


Showing Her the Ropes

by BlueAvenue



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueAvenue/pseuds/BlueAvenue
Summary: An early morning bondage game goes sideways when Castle is unexpectedly called away for an urgent  breakfast meeting with his business manager and Kate falls prey to a cunning and deranged stalker.





	1. Delay of Game

Richard Castle opened his front door to find the fastidious figure of his longtime literary manager Jules Weinstock before him.  Weinstock was nicely turned out in a pearl gray suit with notched lapels, hand-tailored by the legendary Manhattan haberdasher Barney's.  His GQ appearance was in marked contrast to Castle's rumpled NYU tee shirt and ragged jeans.  He was barefoot as well, a testament to the haste with which he'd dressed when Weinstock rang his phone at 6:58 AM to announce he was outside the building and request admittance.

"I woke you up," Weinstock said, sounding not the least apologetic.

"Actually, I've been up since six," mumbled Castle, more or less the truth.

"Then I didn't wake you up."

"Well..." 

"You weren't alone in bed." 

"Correct."

Weinstock remained impenitent.  "So, it's still on between you and the objectively hot policewoman?"

"She has a name, Jules."

"Fine.  Is it still on between you and this Officer Kate Brackett?"

"Beckett," Castle corrected.  "As in Samuel Beckett. And she's a detective, second grade to be exact.  She hasn't been in the bag since they promoted her six years ago."

"Bag?"

"In uniform, riding an RMP."

"A  _what?"_

"Radio Motor Patrol," Castle said, as though to a five-year-old.  "A marked squad car."

"You've been around cops so long you're starting to talk like them.  Going native, isn't that what they call it?"

"Jesus..."  Castle raked a sheaf of thick brown hair from the candid blue eyes that charmed women and put men at ease in his presence.  "It's early, Jules.  What's so important it couldn't wait for a more civilized hour?"

"Seven in the morning is hardly an uncivilized hour for breakfast.  Make that working breakfast.  There's a new place on Lexington at 19th I want to check out.  You and I have the third Nikki Heat novel to talk about."

"I've been on the road for the last three weeks promoting the second.  I think I'm entitled to downtime before I start writing number three."

"Rick, listen carefully.  In the past twenty-fours I've been contacted by two sources in the publishing industry I consider reliable.  Neither is acquainted with the other, they work for two different publishers, yet they had the same story to tell.  A bidding war for the third Nikki Heat title is about to break out, possibly as early as today.  Play your cards right and you stand to make a great deal of money."

"As my manager, you wouldn't make out badly either," Castle said without rancor.

"Whatever their initial offer, I'm confident we can get them to up the ante by millions more.  But we need to be on the same page first.  That's why I'm asking you come to breakfast with me so we can agree on an asking price."

"Do Kate and I have time to shower and dress first?"

"Christ, no!"  Weinstock's expression verged on the apoplectic.  "Rick, you do understand this is strictly business and strictly _entre nous,_ do you not?"

"That sounds non-negotiable."

"Exactly." 

"My new girlfriend won't be happy."

"Oho, she's your girlfriend now?"

"You sound surprised."

"How long have I been your manager?"

"Eleven years and change."  

"During which time you've slept with more women than I can count, not to mention two marriages that crashed and burned."

"This is different, Jules.  Kate and I are in this for the long haul.  My mother adores her and even Alexis is starting to come around." 

"I suppose next you'll be talking marriage."

Castle smiled a secret smile but otherwise kept his own counsel.

"Make sure she signs a prenup."

"So noted.  Give me fifteen minutes to placate her, shower and throw on clean clothes."

"May I invite myself in?"

"You always do, Jules."  Weinstock followed him through the entryway, rounding the floor to ceiling bookshelves that separated it from the living area, and headed directly for the breakfast bar.  There he perched on a stool while unfolding his morning edition of the _New York Times._ Castle continued down the hall to the master bedroom.  He let himself in after a perfunctory rap on the doorframe.  Closing and locking the door behind him, he turned to appreciate anew the delectable sight of Kate Beckett splayed naked across his bed, wrists and ankles bound tautly to the frame with knots fastened cunningly beyond reach of her questing fingertips. Staked out flat on her back, she was as abjectly helpless as Castle had pictured her in his more lurid fantasies.

"Comfy?" he smirked.

"Castle," Kate said sweetly, "from this day forward, I plan to devote my every waking moment to paying you back for this.  In spades."

"As I recall, you were the one who asked--no, insisted--that I rope you hand and foot to my bed for the express purpose of having my way with you."

"I didn't count on being tied up then abandoned. Or did you forget the cardinal rule of bedroom bondage?"

"I left you alone for three minutes, four at the outside."

"And if Martha had wandered in?  Or Alexis?"

"They both know better now that you're sleeping over on a regular basis.  In any event, my mother didn't return from her party until four this morning, meaning she'll sleep it off through mid-afternoon.  And Alexis is at her friend Gina's house near Columbus Circle."

"There's that.  You at least sent Jules packing, right?"

"That was my original plan," Castle said lamely.

_"Castle!"_   

"He's waiting for me in the kitchen."

"And you just let him walk in?  While I'm tied down on your bed?  What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Jules is a hard man to say 'no' to.  He is my manager, after all."

"I don't fucking believe this."  She wrenched uselessly at the unyielding ropes.  "Castle, get rid of him, for Christ's sake!"

"Struggle all you like, me pretty," Castle said with a sinister cackle.  "Once I tie up a saucy wench, she stays tied up."

True fact, reflected Kate.  She and Rick had learned early on police issue handcuffs were sexier in theory than in practice.  Castle being Castle, he'd purchased "ethically sourced" hemp bondage rope online from an outfit in Seattle rather than buy cotton clothesline off the shelf at the neighborhood hardware store.  On the advice of a small yet comprehensive volume called _The Erotic Bondage Handbook,_ he'd used lark's head knots in lashing her to the bedposts.  This ensured she could not work herself loose while safeguarding against nerve damage or even worse loss of circulation in her hands and feet.    

"Goddamn it, Castle," she growled in frustration.  "What the hell does he want?"

"Jules is buying me breakfast."

"Yeah, well, his timing sucks."

"He wants to discuss what's shaping up as a three-way battle for the next Nikki Heat title, my publisher and two others yet to be named."

"I see."  Kate took a deep breath, releasing it slowly to calm herself.  "Well then, if we're having breakfast on your manager's dime, you better untie me so we can hit the shower together."

"Is that a tacit admission you can't free yourself?"

"Yes," she said with greatest reluctance, even as she envisioned how she would exact revenge once _she_ had the upper hand.  Castle sat on the edge of the bed, but to her dismay made no attempt to loosen the ropes anchoring her to the frame.  "Rick, what are you waiting on?"

He steeled himself.  "Uh, sweetheart?  This is a private meeting.  Only Jules and me.  His ground rules, not mine.  It's how he operates."

"What the fuck, Castle?  Does he not realize we're a package deal?  Not only that, as the real-life cop you based the character on, I have skin in the game?"

He reached over to comb his fingers through her thick chestnut mane, loving the luxuriant way it fanned across her pillow, loving her arresting hazel eyes aglow with warmth and intelligence, in fact loving everything about this remarkable woman. "Kate, try and understand where Jules is coming from here."

"How about trying to understand where _I'm_ coming from?  I was lying here waiting to be fucked senseless by my boyfriend, only to discover I take a backseat to a book deal.  I refuse to be marginalized, Castle.  If you don't have the balls to tell your manager that, let me out of these fucking ropes and I'll set him straight in a hurry."

Castle's broodingly handsome face clouded over.  "That may not be the best idea under the circumstance," he murmured.  An evil idea circulating in the back of his mind crowded its way front and center.  He dipped a hand into the nightstand drawer they laughingly called the Toybox and came up with another length of eco-friendly rope.  

The tightly trussed detective eyed him warily.  "Castle...the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I fully intend to have my way with you, Beckett--once I return from breakfast, that is."

"And leave me tied up in the meantime?  Fuck that."

"Only a cad would abandon his girlfriend without a pleasant distraction to occupy her in his absence."  He fashioned an elaborate figure 8 knot in the rope before threading it between her thighs.  Kate's breath hitched as she felt the crotch rope cleave her ass and labia.  Castle then looped the rope twice around her waist, cinching it snug and finishing with a bowline knot tied below her navel.  The pleasurable friction of braided hemp against her velvety inner flesh, coupled with the delicate pressure of the "happy knot" on her clit did in fact take Kate's mind off her more immediate concerns.  But Castle was not yet finished with her.  He retrieved the vibrator they'd christened "Pink Cadillac" from the Toybox, easing it inside her crotch rope with the rotating head positioned directly over her already swollen clit.  At the touch of a switch the Pink Cadillac began to thrum, triggering tiny ripples of unalloyed pleasure throughout her body.

"Oh, God..." she hissed, thrashing vigorously in her bonds.  "Castle, you have no idea what you're doing to me."

_"Au contraire, mademoiselle._ The vibrator is at its lowest setting.  I'm gonna let you simmer for a couple hours while Jules and I have breakfast together.  And to make sure you don't wake Martha..."  Castle delved into the Toybox yet again, this time coming up with a ball gag.  He wedged the red silicon ball between Kate's teeth and buckled it firmly in place, silencing her objections in mid-syllable.  That done he lingered to savor the erotic spectacle of his lover thrashing in her bonds, eyes flashing impotent fury, pleas and protests smothered by the ball gag.  Castle felt the first stirrings of a hard-on. Christ, he wanted so badly to be inside her right now.  Once again he cursed Jules Weinstock for his exquisitely bad timing.     

Bound spread eagle to the bedposts and now muzzled as well, Kate Beckett could only look on as her lover withdrew to the master bedroom.  The subtle yet insistent pulsations radiating from her pussy filled her with a delicious warmth.  It was nearly impossible to focus on anything else, certainly not her anger at Castle.   _Christ Almighty, he could be gone as long as two hours!  How do I survive two hours of this?  I can't even safeword out!_  

Castle emerged from the shower freshly shaven and toweled dry.  Crossing the bedroom to the walk-in closet he spared his helpless and happily quivering inamorata a fond smile.  He dressed swiftly: cotton briefs and crew socks, polo shirt and Dockers.  

"Don't go anywhere," he grinned, planting a kiss on the sweet spot between Kate's supple breasts.  "I'll bring you breakfast and serve it to you in bed.  And then I plan on fucking you the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon.  Does that sound like a plan, Detective Beckett?"

_"Urrrmph!"_ she wailed.  The steady purring of the Pink Cadillac threatened to overwhelm her senses.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'  Try and stay out of trouble while I'm gone."  With that, Richard Castle adjusted the vibrator to its next highest setting.  He then backed out of the bedroom, latching but not locking the door, before rejoining an impatient Jules in the kitchen. As the Pink Cadillac picked up the pace, Kate Beckett arched off the bed with a delirious cry not even her ball gag could contain.      

  

    

 

    

          

   

  

    


	2. Intruder Alert

"What do you keep smiling about?" Jules Weinstock demanded peevishly.  He and Richard Castle waited at the northeast corner of Lexington and 19th, taxis and delivery vans streaming past, surrounded by commuters too absorbed in their smartphones and tabloids to eavesdrop on the nattily attired literary manager and the incognito best-selling crime novelist.  The sole exception being an auburn-haired woman in silk blouse and pencil skirt, stiletto heels adding three inches to her already statuesque height, hovering near Castle's elbow.  Her gray-eyed gaze was disconcertingly sharp.

"Was I smiling?" responded Castle with choirboy innocence.

"More like a shit-eating grin.  What aren't you telling me?"

Castle considered the question.  Even his longtime manager and confidant had no need to know that at this very moment Detective 2nd Grade Kate Beckett, NYPD was roped spread-eagle to his bed with a ball tag strapped in her lovely mouth and a vibrator known as Pink Cadillac for company.  That definitely fell under the heading of Too Much Information.  He waited until they were crossing 19th on the WALK light to reply.

"Truth is, I had to bribe my girlfriend, Jules." A lie, but one he could live with.

"And here I thought she was an honest cop."

"It's not that kind of bribe.  You owe Kate dinner at a restaurant of her choice."

"Say again?"

"She was royally pissed at being frozen out of this working breakfast of yours.  To appease her, I promised that you would treat us to a night out before the end of the week."  Castle paused meaningfully.  "Jules, like it or not, Kate Beckett is the centerpoint of my universe.  More than that, she's my muse."

Weinstock gave him a long, assessing look.  "You're in love with this girl, aren't you?"

"Once again, I invoke--"

"Right, right.  So, does she like Italian?"

"Italian, French, Korean..."

"I ask because a new place called Saudelli's opened in the West Village last month.  How does Thursday sound?"

"She works through Saturday.  I suppose we could do Sunday evening."

"It's a date."  Weinstock slowed, eyeing the queue of fifteen to twenty people lined up at the entrance to the diner.  "Excuse me, anyone know the wait time?"

A middle-aged man in banker's pinstripes glanced up from his _Daily News._ Twenty to twenty-five, last I heard."

"Thank you."  Weinstock scanned Page One of the man's newspaper.  COPS CLUELESS IN PGBG CASE declared the headline with the restraint typical of New York City tabloids.  He turned to Castle.  "Is _Detective_ Beckett working that one?  I hear it's a big deal."

Castle's face set in a grave expression.  "She and the other members of her team--Ryan and Esposito--volunteered for the task force.  To call it a big deal is an understatement."  Over the course of the last five months a total of four young women, all accomplished and strikingly attractive, had been abducted from their homes or while traveling between home and work. Between the second and third incident the kidnapper, who styled himself PGBG (Pretty Girls Bound and Gagged) began taunting the authorities by sending photographs of his plainly terrified victims trussed up and gagged in varying states of undress. Their ultimate fate remained unknown but was a matter of conjecture both within and without the NYPD.       

"No fresh leads then," Weinstock said.

"You're fishing, Jules."

"I just figured your girlfriend being a cop and all--"

"I'm sworn to silence."  He spoke not in jest, for Kate was in fact keeping him _au courant_ on any new developments in the expectation NYPD would invite him to apply his outside-the-box approach to homicide investigation to the PGBG case.  The public had not been told that in his most recent missive, the kidnapper asserted he was growing bored with abducting "easy prey" and would target a female police officer as his next victim.    

"Suit yourself."  Hoping to steer the conversation onto neutral ground, Weinstock scanned the cloudless skies.  "At least it's not raining," he observed.  "You don't mind waiting half an hour to be seated, do you, Rick?"

"I just caught a whiff of the hash browns.  I'm not going anywhere." 

"What time is the girlfriend expecting you home?"

"Jules, didn't he just have this discussion?  Her name--"

"Sorry.  What time is _Kate_ expecting you home?"

"She understands I may be awhile."  Castle smiled evilly at the thought of Kate bound and gagged in his bedroom while Martha slept unawares down the hall.  The mental image triggered another hard-on, obliging him to blade his body to conceal it from Weinstock.  "Don't worry, she's not going anywhere either."

  

Detective 2nd Grade Kate Beckett floated somewhere near The Edge.  She had long since lost all perception of passing time, conscious only of the intense vibes radiating from Ground Zero--her overstimulated clit.  Kate luxuriated in the shimmering waves of pleasure traveling nonstop from her fingertips to her bare toes and back.  Since being left to her own devices, as it were, by her thoughtless asshole of a boyfriend she had cum twice and was now teetering on the precipice of a third shattering orgasm.  Oh Christ, with a bed partner like Pink Cadillac, who needed Richard Castle?

She did, of course.  Kate needed those penetrating blue eyes gazing deep into hers, needed his strong, capable hands roaming her long and pliant body, needed to feel her inner muscles flutter and clench around his throbbing length as he entered her in one fluid thrust.  Most of all she needed to hear him say, "I love you, Kate," ideally as they lay together in a post-coital afterglow.  She was still terrified at how close she in her pride and stubbornness had come to throwing it all away.  It had taken a near-death encounter with professional hit man Cole Maddox for her to finally admit the truth she'd selfishly kept from Rick and even herself.  Appearing bruised and bedraggled at his door that night, she'd staked her heart and happiness on his deep wellspring of love for her and his willingness to forgive.

Kate's overloaded senses did not register the barely audible _snik_ of the bedroom door unlatching from outside.  She never saw the door open to admit a stealthy figure.  Nor did she hear the intruder lock the door behind him.  He made his leisurely way to the foot of the bed, grinning hugely at the sight of Kate Beckett writhing in expert rope bondage, ecstatic cries smothered by the ball gag tamped firmly between her teeth.  Not until he stepped to the window and opened the drapes to admit the morning sun did Kate realize she was no longer alone in the room.  Her eyes snapped open, a spasm of undiluted terror racking her body as she beheld the sinister silhouette before her.

"Detective Beckett, how beautiful you are in daylight," said the stranger in a slithery voice.

_"NNNNGH!"_   Kate strained vigorously though in vain at the hemp ropes snugged around her wrists and ankles.  Castle's textbook knots held fast.  The interloper's predatory eyes raked the length of her willowy body: sleek legs, toned belly, ripe breasts tipped with lovely coral nipples.  He waited until she had exhausted herself in frenzied, futile struggle before speaking again.

"I had not anticipated revealing myself so soon," he said as Kate lay heaving for breath.  "We...that is to say, Dr. Martindale and I have had you under surveillance for some weeks now.  That includes the webcams concealed in this very room.  Oh yes, you and your paramour Richard Castle have provided us with no end of _divertissement._ The best part is, he never suspected I defeated the alarm system he takes such pride in.  When I arose before dawn to see whether the cameras had captured any entertaining footage overnight, I was delighted to see you lashed down on his bed in anticipation of some bondage roleplay.  Being interrupted by his agent was an unexpected stroke of luck.  I conferred at once by phone with Dr. Martindale.  Seeing as how Castle had already done half my work for me by tying and gagging you, we agreed this was an opportune time to acquire you for my collection."

Awash in sweat and raw fear, Kate listened raptly--as if she had a choice--to the intruder's demented monologue.  Her eyes flicked to the iPhone and holstered Glock lying in plain sight on the bedside table.  Under most circumstances they would have been in easy reach.  "Most circumstances" did not include being bound hand and foot to her boyfriend's bed. She whimpered in anguish at the thought of salvation being so near and yet so far.   _I am totally fucked,_ she realized.  _Unless..._

The man who had penetrated Richard Castle's supposedly impregnable loft with such ludicrous ease seemed to divine her thoughts.  "Dearest Katherine...may I call you Katherine?--please do not delude yourself with hopes of a timely rescue.  Accordingly to my latest update from Dr. Martindale, Castle and his agent are still waiting to be seated.  Twenty minutes to get a table, another ten for the server to take their order, why, that's half an hour right there.I can safely predict they'll linger over breakfast hammering out the details of the book deal another sixty to ninety minutes.  Plenty of time for us to get better acquainted.  Oh, I've forgotten my manners.  Allow me to introduce myself.  The name I was born with is of no import.  You may call me PGBG instead."

As he spoke the stranger approached the bed, closing one hand around the Pink Cadillac and turning it off.  No longer backlit by the window, he stood revealed as a man of medium stature and athletic build garbed in a pullover and cargo pants.  Kate shivered in revulsion at his vulpine features.  Removing the vibrator he untied the crotch rope, allowing him unfettered access to Kate's exposed and vulnerable pussy.  She mewled through her gag as he penetrated her with his fingers, delicately exploring her warm velvety folds, finding and tracing her oh-so-sensitive clit.  He finally withdrew his fingers and savored her tang.

"If you're counting on Castle's mother overhearing us and calling 911, not happening.  I looked in on her just now.  She's still sleeping off that Broadway after party.  As insurance, I dosed her with enough Lorazepam, courtesy of Dr. Martindale, to keep her under until the dinner hour."  PGBG opened a small satchel, removing a packet of alcohol wipes.  He tore open the packet and cleansed a patch of skin above Kate's left hip.  Roped down and totally helpless, she could only look on as he then produced a hypodermic needle.  "Time for you to go nighty-night as well, Katherine."   

She felt the needle's jab, struggling reflexively to free herself even as a pleasant lassitude seeped through her.  Something about the name the intruder had twice invoked--Dr. Martindale--resonated with her.  Could he be referring to Dr. Elsbeth Martindale, the forensic psychiatrist recruited as an adviser to the PGBG task force?  Was it possible Dr. Martindale was an accomplice to the man she was supposed to help identify and apprehend?  Kate tried to focus her thoughts but it was like grabbing at smoke.  Familiar shapes around her--lamps, framed prints, the ceiling fan overhead, faded into a gray haze.  At the point where keeping her eyes open became more effort than it was worth, Kate Beckett let them close and surrendered to the insidious darkness.

        


	3. Vanishing Act

Unaware that the girlfriend he'd abandoned in such a cavalier manner was even now in the clutches of a sexual predator, Richard Castle munched on cinnamon toast while Jules Weinstock furiously scribbled columns of figures on the paper napkin before him. Unlike Castle he had yet to touch his breakfast.  Recalling his mother's axiom that it was a sin to waste food, Castle reached over and helped himself to an onion bagel slathered in lox. Weinstock, cellphone seemingly grafted to his left ear, deigned not to notice. Neither paid heed to the auburn-haired woman in stiletto heels seated two tables away, face concealed by a Nora Roberts paperback.  Had either man chanced to look her way, they might well have wondered about the eyeholes carved into the book cover with an X-Acto knife.

"...so even before we factor in film rights, the licensing fees from Amazon Kindle should bring us well into seven figures," Weinstock said with evident satisfaction. He was deep in conversation with Marcia Jaffe, VP for Marketing at Wm. Stansfield & Sons Publishing. Castle was barely able to repress a smile thinking of the shitload of money he stood to make off Nikki Heat, the "tough yet vulnerable" NYPD detective based on his real-life companion Kate Beckett. He experienced a twinge of guilt and self-recrimination at the knowledge Kate was presently lashed down on his bed with only the vibrator known as Pink Cadillac for company while he attended to business over breakfast. Not that she'd necessarily object; Kate might be a take-charge woman on the meaner streets of New York City, but behind closed doors she yearned to have someone take charge of  _her._ This generally meant being tied up and gagged before, during and on occasion after sex.

"Balancing the scales," she said one evening as Castle finished roping her into a strict hogtie.  "Maybe I'm trying to even out my _yin_ and my _yang._ I'm not even sure what name a psychologist would attach to it.  All I know for certain is that after eight hours being in complete control I like--make that  _need_ \--someone else to be calling the shots.  Does that make sense, Castle?"

"Enough talk," he said, tamping a ball gag deep inside her mouth before buckling it in place.

"Houston to Castle," said Weinstock, waving a hand before his face.  "Houston Control to Castle, do you copy?"

"Sorry, Jules.  I was having a reverie."

"Try and stay on task here.  We're only talking a sum of money greater than the GNP of some Third World nations."

"You have my undivided attention."

"Marcia now has her legal department in the loop; they're drafting a contract for a three-book deal as we speak.  We're expected in their offices on Seventh Avenue no later than eight-thirty."

That gave Castle pause.  "Eight-thirty as in this morning?"

"What can I tell you?  They want your signature on that dotted line.  Conditional on my review and approval of course.  They've already called a car service to pick us up."

"Uh, Jules?  I'm hardly dressed for the occasion."

"And I'm confident they'll be prepared to overlook that."  Weinstock consulted his Rolex.  "Finish your breakfast, the car will be here inside of ten minutes."

"Goddamn it, Jules!  There's the small matter of my girlfriend to consider."

"What about her?" Weinstock asked blandly.

"I promised Kate I'd be home right after breakfast and spend the rest of the morning with her."

"In the percales, you mean."

"You're pushing your luck, my friend."

"Get her on the phone then.  You're good with words, tell her you won't be back on time but you'll make it up to her later."

"I can't.  Call her, that is."  A fringe benefit of writing popular fiction for a living was the ability to craft convincing lies on the spur of the moment, which is precisely what Castle did now.  "Kate and her team took a suspect into custody yesterday.  He didn't go quietly and her phone was smashed in the struggle.  We planned on shopping for a new one today.  Jules, I'll get in the limo with you and take this meeting, all I ask is that we detour by my place so I can run upstairs and let her know what's going on."  _With luck, she won't go for her Glock and use me for target practice the second I untie her._

Weinstock hesitated.  "It's not--" he began.

"C'mon, Jules, meet me halfway here."

"I was about to say it's not an unreasonable request.  All right already, I'll ask the driver to stop by your place.  Happy now?"

"Thank you, Jules," Castle mumbled gratefully.

The driver from the car service was commendably prompt, gliding up in his gleaming black Chrysler just as Weinstock paid their bill.  Castle supplemented the miserly tip with a twenty, after which he joined Jules in the back seat of the car. Their departure went unnoticed save by the auburn-haired woman two tables away, who signaled for her check while placing a call on her cellphone.

It was slow going in rush hour traffic, but the driver was an old pro skilled at navigating the streets of lower Manhattan.  He found his way unerringly to Broome Street and double-parked while Castle sprinted inside the building. Riding the elevator to the fourth floor he rehearsed his apology even as he girded himself for Kate's wrath.  He let himself in to the loft and hastened to the bedroom, once again rapping on the doorframe.  "Kate darling?" he called with false heartiness as he made entry.  "Let me say at the outset you have every right to be pissed at me, but I hope--"

His words stalled in his throat at the stupefying sight of the empty bed.  No ropes, no Pink Cadillac, no Beckett.  Castle briefly considered the possibility Kate had somehow untied herself and left home to confront him at the restaurant, dismissing the notion when he caught sight of her duty weapon, iPhone and shield case arranged neatly on the bedside table.  It was unthinkable that she would venture into the wilds of New York City _sans_ phone, firearm and police ID.  Ergo, she was still somewhere in the loft.  God damnit, she _had_ to be.  

Castle's unease shaded toward clawing fear as he searched the loft room by room. He checked his daughter's bedroom, going so far as to inspect the closets, before venturing into his sleeping mother's room next door, this in the scant hope Kate had spoken with her before decamping. Martha however could not be roused, even when he shook her by the shoulder.  This was no hangover, she'd been drugged.  Jules Weinstock chose that moment to ring his cellphone.

"What the fuck, Rick?" he growled.  "A cop put on his red lights just now and told us to move along.  We're circling the block. How long does it take you to make excuses to your girlfriend?"

"Jules, I have to call you back."  Castle stabbed the receiver icon on his phone display to disconnect, then dialed 911.  He gave the operator his name and address and advised he'd just found his 63 year old mother unconscious and unresponsive.  Yes, he said, she was breathing on her own. Yes, she had a strong, steady pulse, he'd checked.  No, she had no ongoing medical issues.  Christ no, he did not suspect opioid use, at least not by choice.

The 911 operator paused.  "Not by choice, what's that supposed to mean?"

"I just need a goddamn ambulance," Castle said.  "Better send an RMP too.  I may have walked in on a crime scene and I need uniforms to secure it."

Another pause.  "RMP?" 

"You know, one of those white cars with red and blue lights on top and 'NYPD' on the side in big blue letters."

"Sir, I know what RMP stands for," said the operator in a tone of strained civility.  "Most people don't use that terminology."

"Most people don't live with a New York City police officer, who's gone missing by the way.  Now get me some help, goddamn it."  Without waiting for a response, Castle hung up and scrolled through Contacts for Detective Esposito's personal cell number.  He dialed it, inhaling deeply to steady his nerves as he waited for Javi to answer.

 

One of the more shopworn tropes of crime fiction was that of the stalwart hero being rendered unconscious in a dank alley by a beavertail sap applied to the base of his skull, awakening to find himself a captive in unfamiliar but sinister surroundings. In a case of life imitating art Kate Beckett now found herself kneeling naked on the raw concrete floor of a dimly-lit windowless chamber, wrists bound at the small of her back and ankles lashed together.  A taut length of chain connected the stainless steel collar locked around her neck to a wrought iron staple bolted to the wall behind her.

The man calling himself PGBG reached out to caress her hair, frowning in disappointment as she flinched away from his touch.  "Welcome back, Katherine," he said.  "Dr. Martindale will be pleased to learn she calculated your Lorazepam shot so precisely."

Kate reflexively tested her bonds, a stupid and futile gesture to coin a phrase.  Castle's eco-friendly ropes were unforgiving, the knots solid and tied beyond reach of her fingers.  She heard her abductor laugh mirthlessly.

"Ever heard of a struggler's knot, Katherine?" he inquired.  "Those are what I used in tying you up.  Self-locking, essentially escape-proof.  You've transitioned almost seamlessly from one bondage scenario to another, the chief difference being I'm not a role player.  That collar you're wearing?  Engraved with your name.  You're now my newest and most prized possession.  Tell me, are you familiar with the works of John Fowles?"

She defiantly matched gazes with him.  "Is this a quiz?"

"The question is a serious one.  Your lover Richard Castle--let me clarify,  _ex-_ lover, for you'll never see him again--must have an appreciation for the classic psychological thrillers.  _Silence of the Lambs, Misery, Gerald's Game..._ I'd be surprised if he'd never read Fowles' masterwork, _The Collector._ Shall I summarize the plot for you?"

"Do I have a choice?"  

"A socially inept young man named Frederick Clegg toils away as a lowly clerk.  His one escape from his dreary existence is his collection of butterflies--until the day he encounters Miranda Grey, a lovely art student who is totally out of his league.  Frederick lucks out for once in his life by winning a small fortune in the local soccer pool.  He quits his job and buys an isolated old house, fantasizing that money makes him Miranda's equal and he now has hope of winning her love.  In the end he kidnaps Miranda and keeps her imprisoned in his cellar."

As if on cue a low rumbling noise filled the room, accompanied by the shriek of steel wheels on steel rail.   _A subway train,_ Kate realized.  _Wherever he's holding me it's somewhere close to a subway line._

_"_ The parallels end there, however," continued PGBG. "Whereas poor repressed Frederick found sex vile and unclean, meaning he never consummated his love for Miranda, I have no such inhibitions.  Ask my other victims."

"Then it's true," Kate said tonelessly.  "You kidnapped those women, all four of them.  Are they still alive?"

"We can discuss that at a later date."  PGBG threaded his fingers through her luxuriant, tawny brown hair.  "I'd much rather spend the time getting to know each other better, wouldn't you?"

"You goddamn fucking degenerate," Kate seethed.  "Get your filthy fucking hands off me."

"Or you'll do what?  Castle isn't riding to your rescue this time, Katherine.  In fact, if you're honest with yourself you'll admit he's to blame for your capture by leaving you tied up and gagged for me, low-hanging fruit ripe for the picking."  PGBG's voice acquired a steely undertone.  "You are now my personal fuck toy, to do with as I please.  The sooner you reconcile yourself to your new reality the happier you'll be."

The searing truth behind his words left Kate so demoralized she offered no more than token resistance while he deftly inserted a silicon ring gag in her mouth.  He then swept her hair aside to fasten the leather straps at the nape of her neck.  Resigned to imminent oral rape she keened inconsolably as PGBG undid his belt followed by the fly of his cargo pants.  His raging erection rose ominously into view like a nuclear-tipped ICBM emerging from its silo.  Blinded by tears of humiliation Kate was spared the sight of her captor guiding the engorged head of his cock through the ring gag and into her mouth.  She felt the weight of his meaty shaft on her tongue and tasted the brackish ooze of precum.           

"Katherine, you need to be a little more engaged here," chided PGBG.  "Castle wouldn't settle for a passive blowjob and neither will I. Pleasure me the way I watched you pleasure him."  Wrapping his fist in Kate's hair he ground her face into his pubic thatch.  "Do I have to diagram it for you?  Suck me off, bitch!"    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

  

     

  

           

 

 

 

      

      

 

      

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post at Archive of Our Own. Castle and all related characters are of course the creation of Andrew Marlowe and intellectual property of ABC. Whatever latent guilt I have over "borrowing" Richard Castle and Kate Beckett is balanced out by my genuine affection for them. Even now, two years after the series came to such an inglorious end, the dismissive treatment accorded Stana Katic and the remarkable heroine she brought to life on the screen every Monday night continues to rankle. Apologies for the editorial. Any comments or criticism welcome.


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